


Menagerie

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Kink Meme, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragon Queen may lock the lion and wolf in a cage, but she can never silence the howls and roars.</p>
<p>Written for <a href="http://workswithwords.livejournal.com/259929.html">You Win Or You Die: A Game of Thrones Kink Meme</a>.  The prompt was:  Jaime/Sansa; sex in the dungeons at King's Landing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Menagerie

 

A stream of murky water sluices through the crevices of the stone, landing on the hard floor in a steady drip, drip, drip. As she lies on the dirty straw pallet, Sansa wonders how the water manages to avoid turning to ice- the cold in the cell is brutal, abusive and uncompromising, slicing through her skin and cleaving into her bones.    
  
She starts to shake, more seizure than shiver. Teeth chatter and muscles cramp, but then she feels the warmth of arms around her, the solidness of a broad chest behind her, and she pushes against it, nestles into it, legs twining with legs and breaths nearly shared, steam rising in the frigid air.   
  
Sansa and Jaime have grown used to sharing small bedrolls in drafty tents- they care nothing for modesty anymore. She wraps her legs around him, her groin flush against his, but what does it matter, they are so much warmer this way. He presses his lips to the crown of her head, and she takes the opportunity to bury her face in the crook of his neck, pulling the thin woolen blanket tight around them both.    
  
Their hearts flutter together, too fast to be healthy, hot blood striving to pump through frozen veins.   
  
A shift, and Jaime winces. Sansa moves her legs away from the vicious bruising on the backs of his knees, placed there by the formidable Dothraki guards who occupy the Queen’s throne room. Cold fingers reach up to stroke the angles of his face as she remembers him standing before the Queen that afternoon, battle-worn and thin and weary, but proud, still so proud. When Daenerys had demanded a confession of his crimes, he’d obliged readily, but refused to offer an apology for killing her mad father.    
  
And when the lithe little monarch stood from her chair and declared, “I am your Queen, and you will do as I command,” Jaime had looked at her, green eyes flashing, and snarled: “Anyone who must say ‘I am the Queen’ is no true Queen at all.”   
  
(The words sounded a bit peculiar, echoing of paraphrase, but the power and defiance were there in abundance.)   
  
She’d screamed herself hoarse when the Dothraki beat him nearly unconscious, and she’d kicked and wailed and struggled until the guards agreed to let her share Jaime’s cell. She’d held him then as she holds him now- her one ally in the dragon’s lair, another vestige of a great House near extinction, her fierce, brave, foolish lion.   
  
One of her hands slides under his filthy tunic; he flinches at the cold as she draws her palm over his hard stomach. Another activity they’d picked up during their travels, the surest way to keep warm. Her fingertips dance over the waistband of his breeches, teasing at the laces.    
  
He hisses when her hand closes around his cock; the icy metal of the golden hand catches in her hair, and he kisses her, chapped lips on chapped lips, tongues eagerly slipping into mouths to find the heat within.    
  
She holds him to her with desperation, almost reluctant to release long enough to pull her smallclothes out of the way. He breaks their kiss and licks up and down her neck- she fists his matted golden hair and clings and grips and sighs.   
  
His cock is so warm inside her, and she rocks her hips over it, her chest against his, their foreheads pressed together, their mouths hungry and demanding-   
  
Jaime reaches his left hand down to brush her clit, and she very nearly squeals, but she bites down on Jaime’s lip just in time- the guards are never far down here, after all....   
  
The golden hand nudges her chin, and she meets his eyes; his beautiful, wild, ferocious eyes.    
  
“Let them hear,” he rasps, kissing her hard before releasing his own moan of pleasure.   
  
Sansa’s cheeks flush, but as she looks around her at the filthy, frigid, miserable little cell, the drip of dirty water, conditions completely unsuited for a pair of nobles.... _savage, all of it.  
  
And if it’s savagery they want, then they will have it._   
  
She screams, so loudly that even Jaime appears startled. But she catches a glint in his eyes, and she trembles with delight when he matches her cries with a feral growl.   
  
They hear heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs, but Daenerys Stormborn’s caged lion and wolf continue to roar and howl until the sounds ricochet off of the stone, filling the air, marking the dragon’s dungeon for their own. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
